


Dark Chocolate

by azriona



Series: Advent Calendar Drabbles 2013 [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, i seriously cannot think of a single other tag to use here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg wakes up in the middle of the night to discover Mycroft is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PorcupineGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcupineGirl/gifts).



> The seventh installment of this year’s Advent Calendar Drabbles. Because I am lazy, I’m titling the drabbles with the prompt. Today’s prompt is from coendou, who requested Sherlock/John. I hope she doesn’t mind that I ignored that part.

It was so dark in the room when Greg woke, he wasn’t entirely sure he was awake at all. It was only the thin line of light peeking through the crack in the curtains, and the wide expanse of the cold sheets that make him realize he was not longer asleep. 

_Cold_ sheets…Greg sat up, and tried to see in the dark, but there was no movement, no other bit of light, no sound. No Mycroft. Maybe it was the utter silence in the room that woke him, or maybe something else entirely. Greg swung his legs out of the bed and shivered in the cool air. Mycroft kept an extra robe for him, but Greg wasn’t sure where it was, and didn’t particularly want to spend time trying to find it. Instead, he fumbled, hands in front of him, as he shuffled out of the room and into the hall. 

There, a bit of light at the top of the stairs. Just enough for him to see by, so that he wouldn’t fall and break his neck. 

Greg followed the light, and the closer he got to it, the more he heard. Shuffling, the whistle of a kettle, the clink of a spoon stirring in a mug. Paper wrappers being set aside. A crisp snap, and then Greg pushed open the door to the kitchen, and saw Mycroft standing at the counter, holding the plate and mug and cup, looking warm and comfortable in his brushed velvet dressing gown. Slippers on his feet, Greg had no doubt, hair only a bit mussed from his pillow. 

Mycroft looked surprised to see him. 

“Gregory,” he said, faltering, and Greg shuffled into the kitchen, feeling rather exposed in his boxers and t-shirt and bare feet. “What are you – you’re freezing.” 

“We can’t all have velvet dressing gowns.” 

“It’s on the chair. You should have—“ 

“Couldn’t sleep?” asked Greg, and wrapped his arms around himself. 

“Here,” said Mycroft, and shrugged off his dressing gown to put it around Greg’s shoulders. It was warm, and Greg pulled it tightly around him. Mycroft wore flannel pajamas, buttoned up nearly to his neck, dark plaid and expertly tailored, even for pajamas. He wouldn’t be cold anytime soon. 

“Any more tea?” he asked. 

“I can make you a cup. Chamomile. Sit down.” 

Greg sat on the stool next to the counter, and watched Mycroft go through the motions of an additional cup of tea. The kitchen was quiet, except for the occasional hum from the fridge, the _tick-tick-tick_ of the clock, the whisper of Mycroft’s slippers against the floor. 

Mycroft set the cup in front of Greg softly, and placed the sugar bowl next to it. Greg wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic and breathed in the scent. 

“How long have you been awake?” 

“I don’t think I fell asleep,” said Mycroft, and Greg looked up, still breathing in the tea. 

“Did I…?” 

“No,” said Mycroft quickly. “And yes. It’s….” Mycroft held his hands up, as if to ward off Greg’s concern. “My mind won’t stop cataloguing.” 

Greg thought of Sherlock, on the deducing tears he’d get into, interpreting every last detail and spouting it out in an ever escalating speed of words. Of how he’d wear himself down into a frazzled, exhausted mess – at least until John came along, and could stop him with a simple, “Amazing,” or in the worst bits, “No, wait, stop and explain.” And Sherlock would slow down, take it in steps, and be better for it. 

“Yes,” said Mycroft, reading him. “Exactly so. But perhaps…not quite so violently.” 

“Enough to keep you from sleeping.” 

“I only need a quiet moment to reset myself.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry. I’ll just…” Greg set down the cup, and slid off the stool, but Mycroft had intercepted his movements already, and stepped closer, so that Greg landed, pressed up against him. 

“You are not an impediment to my quiet moment,” said Mycroft quietly, and Greg felt himself relax into Mycroft’s warmth. “Just…be with me.” 

“Of course,” said Greg, and he sat back on the stool. 

Mycroft moved away again, and retrieved his teacup. Greg watched, but his eyes remained on the dark square next to the plate, one end a bit ragged, as if it’d been snapped off from the source. 

After a moment, Mycroft set down the teacup again, and picked up the square. Greg watched as he snapped it two, and wordlessly handed one half to Greg, who quietly took it, watching Mycroft with curious eyes. Mycroft smiled at him, and then placed the small triangle in his mouth. 

Greg did likewise. Chocolate, so dark it was nearly bitter, but rich and velvety, a faint note of cinnamon and a more powerful coffee flavor. It melted on his tongue, crept along his teeth, rubbed up against the roof of his mouth, and Greg let it permeate him, molten warmth slipping softly down his throat. 

When at last he swallowed, a moment after Mycroft, he was warm and content, comforted and safe. The chamomile looked far less interesting, compared to the man standing before him, and Greg thought about opening the buttons on his top, one by one, the dark fabric slipping down Mycroft’s body, a whisper of rich fabric against smooth skin. 

Mycroft rinsed the tea cups, the spoons, the plate. Greg watched him, waiting, and when Mycroft took his hand, Greg wrapped his fingers around his, and followed him back upstairs.


End file.
